


The Alternative to Calgary

by level3puckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/level3puckbunny/pseuds/level3puckbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trades suck. One way to avoid them? Marrying your best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alternative to Calgary

**Author's Note:**

> So this came about from a glorious idea my roommate had when we were at her work one day (yeah, all the credit is hers) after I was screwing around on Capgeek because I was bored. I'm fully aware that it would never ever ever happen in real life and that these people don't belong to me and so on and so forth.

SUNDAY

 

            “They’re talking to Calgary.” Danny didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Did you hear me? They’re talking to Calgary,” Claude repeated, louder this time, his voice edged with panic. “Feaster-”

            “Jesus Christ, Claude, I heard you the first eight times,” Danny snapped.

            “I said it twice!” Claude twisted around in his seat to look at Danny. He looked so fucking young, Danny thought with a small sigh, his eyes big and worried, chewing on his bottom lip. Usually Claude was very mature, very grown-up for his 24 years, but the idea of trades had this way of turning him into a terrified little kid like nothing else could. Danny could identify with it. Being ripped away from your friends, your team, the life you’ve built for yourself—it was fucking cruel, that’s what it was, but it was part of their lives. Ever since Richie and Carts had been traded the previous summer, Claude had been panicking at the very thought that Holmgren might decide he was a worthy bartering chip for, say, a defenseman from Ottawa, or a goalie from San Jose. Unfortunately, over the past two weeks rumors had seemed to solidify into something that Danny didn’t even want to admit to. The destination changed depending on the media report, but the fact remained—they were shopping Claude to _somewhere_.

            The thought made Danny want to vomit.

            _How_ could they want to give up Claude? His Claude? He could deke like no one Danny had ever seen, he had speed and skill and heart and determination, he could score, he could pass, he made Danny’s day better just by existing-

            Okay, maybe Holmgren didn’t care about that last one. But he _should_. 

            “It’s just a rumor,” Danny said, trying to make himself believe it as much as Claude. “Just a-”

            “It’s _not_ just a rumor. James is fucking Holmgren’s secretary and she told him. Feaster and Holmgren were on a conference call all day yesterday and she says she specifically heard my name mentioned.” Danny nearly wrapped the car around a telephone pole.

            “ _What_?” Claude shrugged.

            “James is a good friend.”

            “That—that’s not what I was _what_ -ing, but while we’re—you’re telling me he’s sleeping with this girl to get information for you?”

            “He seems to actively _care_ where I play next year, Danny,” Claude said angrily. “He’s trying to help. Besides, she’s hot.” Danny shook his head, deciding it was probably a good idea to change the subject before they delved too deep into Claude’s sexual mores and Danny became deeply discouraged.

            “I care.” Claude’s head turned to look at him quickly. “No, believe me. I really, really care.” There was a long silence that lasted until Danny pulled into their driveway and parked the car. Claude reached out and put his hand on Danny’s shoulder.

            “So let’s figure this out, okay?”

            They sat in the living room after the kids had gone to bed with two bottles of beer sitting on the coffee table. Or, they did for about a minute until Danny got up and liberated the bottle of scotch he kept hidden underneath the couch, pouring a glass for each of them.

            “Much better,” Claude said. “Okay.”

            They immediately ruled out murder, because Danny pointed out that prison would be just like going to Calgary, just warmer. Also for that reason they ruled out serious bodily harm and arson. Danny suggested that Claude get James to sleep with Holmgren, just to see what happened, and then Claude started clawing at his eyes and yelling for the brain bleach. Several hours passed this way, with each of them throwing out suggestions (Danny: asking nicely, Claude: armed siege) that the other would refute (Claude: “You’re a pussy.”, Danny: “You’re a psychopath.”).

            “This is hopeless.” Claude swirled the scotch around in his glass. He couldn’t remember how many he’d had. Danny nodded blearily from beside him.

            “Hopeless.”

            “I’m just going to have to fucking live in Calgary. I mean, on the upside, at least I’m not married. I don’t have to uproot my family.” Danny blinked. Once. Twice. Then he sat up, slowly.

            “We could try that.” Claude looked at him, confused.

            “Try what?”

            “Getting married.” Claude blinked. Once. Twice. Then he sat up, slowly.

            “To each other?” Danny shrugged, trying to be casual even though his heart was thumping so hard he was surprised it wasn’t visible in his chest.

            “Worth a shot, right?” He had been expecting one of a multitude of responses. _I’m not gay. I don’t love you. That would be weird._

            “Yeah,” Claude said. “Yeah, it is.”

 

MONDAY

 

            The next morning, after Danny had dropped the kids off at Sylvie’s, they went out to a nearby diner and got a booth in the corner. After Danny ordered pancakes and Claude ordered half the menu, they looked at each other over the table.

            “Do you really want to do this?” Claude asked.

            “Do you?” Danny returned.

            “Don’t do that shit of answering my questions with a question. It’s so fucking annoying. And to answer your fucking annoying question, yes, I do.” Claude gulped down some coffee as Danny stared. “I’m up for anything that will keep me with the Flyers.”

            “Okay,” Danny said. “So, we’re getting married.” It sounded so momentous when he said it out loud.

            “Yeah, we are.” There was a long silence.

            “Do you know how?”

            “Uh, what?”

            “How do you, like, go about getting gay married? Is it like getting regular married or do you have to do something special? I just know it’s legal in New Jersey.” That was _all_ Danny knew about the whole process, too. The legalization had been greeted with fanfare by the gay rights community but Danny had mostly ignored it, not realizing that less than six months later it would prove to be very important to him. Claude was thinking. Danny could tell because he was chewing on his bottom lip.

            “Let’s ask Avery,” Claude suggested suddenly. “He knows a lot about this gay shit.”

            Danny groaned.

            For someone who wasn’t gay, Sean Avery did know a lot about “this gay shit.” He had campaigned for marriage equality in New York and New Jersey, and was well-known as an advocator of gay rights. He was also well-known as a tremendous asshat.

            “Really? Sean Avery?”

            “Well, who would you ask? Can you think of anyone else who would know? It’s not like I’m going to call my mother and say, ‘Hi, Mama. I need your help. I’m getting married to a man. No, we’re not really going to have buttsex, but—Mama, are you still there?’” Danny found himself laughing in spite of himself at Claude’s mock phone call. “Yeah. It’s gonna have to be Avery. Know anyone who has his number?”

            “Pronger does.” Claude gaped at him.

            “ _Pronger_.”

            “Yes.”

            “ _Chris_ Pronger _._ ”

            “Yes.”

            “Do they call each other late at night to compare dick moves and how many toddlers they’ve made cry that day?”

            “Frankly? I wouldn’t put that out of the realm of possibility.” Danny was digging his phone out of his pocket. He flipped through his address book and then dialed. “Hey, Chris.”

            “Hey, Danny.” He appeared to have caught Chris in one of his better moods. This was good news. “What’s up?”

            “Look, I need Sean Avery’s phone number. I thought I remembered that you have it.”

            “Um. Yeah, I do. What do you want that idiot’s number for?”

            “Your kids in the room, Chris?”

            “How’d you know?”

            “You called Avery an idiot. Can I have it?”

            “Fine. I’ll text it to you, okay?”

            “Great. Thanks. Talk to you later.”

            “Okay. Oh, and Danny?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Tell the kid I’m sorry.” Danny stiffened, the phone in his hand.

            “Why? What have you heard?” His voice was guarded. Across the table, Claude’s head snapped up.

            “Everyone knows the axe is about to drop on him. Calgary, right? Fucking shame. Just tell him I’m sorry and he’s a good player and to not let it get him down.” Danny bit back an instinctive response— _damn right it’s a fucking shame!_ —and reminded himself that Chris had been around the NHL as long as he had and his sentiments were genuine. Chris might be a dick at times, but he was a good teammate.

            “I’ll tell him. Bye.”

            “Bye.” Danny hung up the phone and looked over at Claude.

            “Chris says-”

            “I think I got it.” Claude had started to look a little sick to his stomach. “You got Avery’s number?” At that moment, Danny’s phone buzzed, and he opened the text to reveal a phone number.

            “Yeah, I do.”

            “Call him. We don’t have a lot of time.”

            Sean Avery’s phone went to voicemail the first time Danny called. Swearing, Danny hung up and called again. This time Avery answered on the third ring.

            “Who are you and why should I care?”

            “Avery?”

            “Yeah?”

            “This is Daniel Briere.” There was a silence.

            “How the fuck did you get this number?”

            “Chris Pronger. Listen-”

            “You have exactly ten seconds before I hang up this phone to tell me what you want.”

            “Look, Avery-”

            “One. Two. Three-”

            “Claude Giroux and I want to get married,” Danny said in a rush, probably louder than he needed to.

            Avery stopped counting. Also, the waitress who had stopped by to fill up their coffee mugs gave him a very strange look. Claude bit both his lips to keep from bursting out laughing.

            “Well,” Avery said, in a very different tone of voice. “Well, that’s very interesting. And you called me because?”

            “We’re not…sure…how to do it.” He heard a strangled sound from the other end of the phone, and then realized that Avery was laughing at him.

            “Okay,” he said, once he’d apparently gained control of himself since Danny was so fucking hilarious. “Where are you now?”

            “A diner in Haddonfield.”

            “Can you meet me for dinner in New York?”

            “Sure,” Danny said.

            “Okay. Black tie, Briere. Don’t embarrass me. I’ll text you directions to this number.” And then he hung up. Danny wondered if Sean Avery really did think he was James Bond or if this was some kind of elaborate deadpan comedy thing. Danny took the phone away from his ear and looked across the table at Claude, who arched one eyebrow at him.

            “Well?”

            “We’re having dinner with Avery tonight. And we have to wear black tie.”

            “Fuck that.”

            “We’re asking for the man’s help, Claude, we should humor him.”

            Try as he might, Danny was able to get Claude into the tuxedo but could not persuade him to wear a necktie.

            “They make me feel like I’m being strangled, and not in a sexy way.”

            “Sexy—oh, God, I don’t want to know,” Danny moaned, adjusting his own tie and trying to get those mental images out of his head. Claude grinned at him, rather evilly.

            “You should know what you’re getting into, fiancé.”

            Avery sent them directions to a very expensive restaurant in midtown Manhattan. Danny drove up and valet-parked the car, before following Claude in. The hostess smiled at Claude, and he grinned charmingly back at her.

“We’re meeting a Mr. Avery for dinner.”

“Oh! You must be Mr. Briere and Mr. Giroux. He’s right here.”

“Thank you so much,” Claude said, turning on the charm. Danny rolled his eyes a bit and elbowed him.

            “Focus,” he hissed.

            “We’re not married yet,” Claude whispered back, eyeing the hostess’s ass while they followed her through the restaurant. Danny reddened and didn’t have a comeback on hand, and then the hostess paused and he was looking right into the smiling face of Sean Avery.

            “Danny, Claude,” Avery said, grinning up at them. “So good to see you two.”

            “Hey, douchebag,” Claude said sunnily, taking a seat. Danny bit back a laugh at the look on the hostess’s face as she faded into the background. Avery was unfazed.

            “After I offer to help you two? Really? That’s the thanks I get?” He sighed, picking up his menu. “The Chilean sea bass looks good.”

            “Don’t get the sea bass,” Claude told Danny. “It’s probably poisoned.” Danny held up his hands.

            “Okay! Okay! Both of you.” He felt like he was refereeing an argument between Caelan and Carson at the moment. “Avery, even though saying this makes me physically ill, we really do need your help.”

            “I gathered.” Avery sounded amused, and Danny wanted to sock him so fucking badly. “I have to say, I wasn’t surprised. I mean, everyone in the league knew you two were fucking.” Claude and Danny exchanged horrified looks.

            “We’re not fucking!” Claude yelped, and the stately silver-haired gentleman at the next table turned to look at him. Danny shushed Claude, before looking over at Avery.

            “Saving yourself for marriage, Giroux? How sweet. Briere’s a real special guy, I can see how you-”

            “Avery, so help me God, shut your mouth or I will take your balls off,” Danny growled. “It’s not like that.” Avery looked from Danny, who really did look ready to castrate him, to Claude, whose face was redder than his hair, and understood.

            “You’re _not_ fucking.” They both shook their heads. Avery tilted his to one side. “Does this have something to do with all those trade rumors that Giroux has going on?” Avery might be an asshat, but he wasn’t a dumb asshat.

            “You got it,” Danny said. Avery shook his head, amazed.

            “So you’re willing to get married to keep him from going—where?”

            “Calgary,” Claude said, wincing even as he said the name.

            “Fuck, I’d marry a dude to escape Calgary too.” They both looked up. Avery was looking at them and smiling. “I think,” he said, “that we can both help each other out, here.”

            Avery explained. He’d been advocating for gay rights in sports for years. The problem was, no gay athletes had ever come forward. There was no “gay Jackie Robinson.” Homosexuality in pro sports was still shrouded in secrecy.

            “If you guys get married and come out,” Avery said excitedly as he stuffed his face with Chilean sea bass, “there will be an _example_. Other people will see that it’s okay. Like, that you haven’t shriveled up and died or anything, you know?”

            “But we’re not gay,” Claude said, confused.

            “It doesn’t matter,” Avery said, waving his fork around with such abandon Danny was afraid he was going to leave puncture marks on a waitress. “If you _pretend_ to be, it won’t matter.”

            “Pretend,” Danny said, slowly.

            “You’re getting married, aren’t you? What the fuck did you think that would be?” Slowly, the reality of this whole thing started to sink in for Danny. “You’ll have to fake it. That’s the only way to do this right. If you’re really not fucking, you’ll have to pretend you are. What do you say, Giroux? Because it’s this or Calgary.” Danny looked over at Claude, expecting to see at the very least some hesitation, and Claude looked back at him with determination written all over his face. Wordlessly, Danny placed his hand on the table, palm up. Claude understood and took Danny’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers. They both looked at Avery, identical expressions of defiance on their faces.

            “This,” Claude said, and Danny just smiled.

            Avery turned out to be surprisingly knowledgeable about the intricacies of filing for a marriage license in New Jersey. It was Monday night, which Avery said was good.

            “There’s a 72-hour waiting period. You’ll be able to get yours before the weekend. Since I suspect you want to get married as soon as possible in case Holmgren makes the trade sooner rather than later, this is a good thing. We’ll go apply tomorrow.”

            “We?” Claude asked, incredulous, and Danny could feel the way his fingers tensed slightly. They were still holding hands.

            “New Jersey law requires a witness. I looked it up.”

            “I’ll ask James to do it,” Claude said calmly, and Avery just smiled serenely at them.

            “I’d consider it an honor, really.” Claude rolled his eyes but seemed to let it go. “Are you guys official residents of Haddonfield?”

            “I am,” Danny answered.

            “Great. We’ll go see the registrar tomorrow. You’ll need your passports, proof of residency and twenty-eight bucks. Think you can scrape together that colossal amount of cash? Giroux here apparently couldn’t even find a tie to wear tonight.”

            “Fuck you,” Claude said cheerfully. “How the fuck do you know so much about getting married in New Jersey?” Avery smiled at him.

            “I looked it up after Briere called me. I do my research.” He picked up the dessert menu. “I hear this place has an absolutely incredible crème brulee.”

            Of course, Avery claimed he forgot his wallet and stuck Danny with the check.

            Danny and Claude didn’t talk much on the ride home from Manhattan. Claude had his phone out and was texting furiously, and Danny was trying frantically to sneak looks at the screen without crashing the car. He was unsuccessful.

            “Who are you talking to?” he finally asked.

            “James,” Claude answered, his brows furrowed. Danny felt a swoop of fear in the pit of his stomach.

            “Is he-”

            “Hell no,” Claude said, laughing a bit. “He’s trying to set me up with his gay cousin, who he says is a hell of a lot hotter than you.” Danny had to laugh, from a combination of relief and because that was just vintage _James_. “He says I have to stay so he still has a half-decent center.”

            “Hey.” Claude grinned cheekily at Danny and kept texting.

 

TUESDAY

 

            True to his word, Sean Avery was on their doorstep at promptly ten the next morning, and they drove to the registrar’s office to apply for a marriage license. Avery was his usual sniping, assholish self, but Danny could sense from the way he was tapping his fingers on his knee that he was not at ease. Something was bothering him.

            “What is it, Avery?” The Ranger looked over at Danny.

            “What?”

            “You’re nervous.” Avery looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world.

            “Briere, if you’re _not_ nervous right now, there is something wrong with you. Have you told your families?”

            “We were going to do that today.”

            “You better.” Danny pulled into a parking space, and they all got out and walked in.

            The bell rang on the door, and a woman sitting behind a broad wooden counter looked up.

            “Hello—oh!” She jumped up, clearly having recognized Danny and Claude, at least. They were local celebrities, in Haddonfield. “Mr. Briere! Mr. Giroux! What can I do for you, today?” Danny swallowed. Took a deep breath. Opened his mouth-

            “We’ve come to apply for a marriage license,” Claude said, casual as could be. Danny blinked. The woman—the plaque on her desk said Shirley Gibson—looked overjoyed.

            “That’s wonderful! Is your fiancée outside?” Claude indicated Danny.

            “He’s my fiancé.”

            The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

            “Oh.” She looked at the two of them, not bothering to hide either her surprise or her distaste. “Oh. I didn’t realize you two were…” Danny looked instinctively over at Claude and realized he’d gone dead pale. He looked a little like he was about to cry, too.

            Danny’s reaction was instant and primal and scared him a little. He wanted this woman’s head for putting that expression on Claude’s face. He was literally opening his mouth to eviscerate her when Sean Avery, _Sean fucking Avery_ , beat him to it.

            “I’d think long and hard about your next choice of words, Ms…?” Avery’s voice was calm, cool, and viciously polite. The woman licked her lips nervously, suddenly realizing she was in trouble.

            “Gibson.”

            “Ms. Gibson. I also think that issuing marriage licenses in a state where gay marriage is legal might be the wrong career choice for someone who has a problem with two men getting married. But you don’t have any problem with that, do you? Because I wouldn’t want to have to report you to your supervisor for bias.” Ms. Gibson’s mouth was opening and closing but no sound was coming out. Finally she managed to shake her head.

            “No problem, sir.”

            “Good. Let’s start drawing up the paperwork, shall we?”

            Ms. Gibson did her job—no more, no less—but that was all they required of her. By the time they left the registrar’s office, they were informed that the license would be ready at midday on Friday, which left them free to have the “church” ceremony on Saturday.

            “It’s not like we’re really getting married in a church,” Danny said dully as he pulled into their driveway. He and Claude were both Catholic. That just wasn’t happening.

            “We’ll figure it out,” Avery said. “I’ll ask around and see if I can find a sympathetic minister who can perform the ceremony. Now, you need to go and tell your families before that woman goes and tells Deadspin or the Daily News or something. _Go_.” He opened the door of the car to get out.

            “Avery.” He paused. Danny swallowed, wondering how exactly to phrase this. “What you did back there. Just-”

            “Yeah, I’m awesome. I know.” Avery grinned at him. “She was a fucking bitch, guys, but you’re going to get that a lot, and some of it’s going to be a hell of a lot worse. That was a drop in the fucking bucket. That’s why you doing this is so fucking important, get it?” Danny sighed.

            “Do you have to make this into some big altruistic gay calling? I just don’t want Claude to go to Calgary.”

            “Basically,” Claude agreed.

            “Well, you’re also just doing something for the good of humanity. Suck on _that_.” And then Avery got out of the car, and Danny looked over at Claude.

            “Sylvie’s?” Claude groaned.

            “Oh, fuck my life.”

            On the way over, they decided it would be easiest if they pretended to Sylvie and the kids that they really were in love.

            “She already thinks you have an epic gay thing for me,” Claude teased Danny, and he glared.

            “She does not.”

            “No, she totally does. That’s why she hates me.”

            “She hates you because the kids like you better than her.”

            “That’s because I let them have two desserts and stay up till ass o’clock in the morning playing Mario Kart. Who _wouldn’t_ prefer me?” Danny conceded this point. “How do you want to handle the boys?”

            “Just throw them all in a room and announce it,” Danny said with a sigh. “Get it fucking over with. Because you know Caelan will be inappropriate, Carson will be sweet and Cam will be clueless. As that is how the world works.” Claude cracked up.

            “That is how the world works, isn’t it?”

            “You’re doing _what_?” Sylvie was standing in the middle of her kitchen, hands on her hips, staring at Danny and Claude.

            “We’re getting married,” Danny repeated. “See?” He grabbed Claude’s hand, as if to prove to Sylvie that yes, they were actually a couple. Claude smiled, weakly, before mouthing to Danny _Ow_. Danny reddened and loosened his grip slightly. Sylvie was watching them, astonished, before she flung her arms around Danny’s neck.

            “I’m so glad you finally realized it!” she said to him in French, squeezing tightly. “I kept hearing all these trade rumors, and I thought, how horrible would it be if he went to Calgary and you never admitted…” Danny patted her back lightly, shooting a _Please-God-rescue-me_ look to Claude, who was standing there snickering quietly. There were days he really hated Claude. Sylvie pulled back, looking at Danny happily. “Have you told the boys?”

            “No, not yet.”

            “I’ll get them.” She darted out of the kitchen, and Claude finally gave himself permission to burst into laughter, albeit softly.

            “Shut the fuck up.”

            “So she was just waiting for you to _realize_ your epic gay love. That makes it so much better.”

            “I swear to God, Claude,” Danny said warningly, just as Sylvie brought the boys into the kitchen. From the looks of things, she’d dragged Caelan out of bed, and Carson was still clutching a video game controller.

            “Dad? Claude?” Caelan blinked. “What’s up?”

            “Did someone die?” Carson asked, worried.

            “No, stupid, Mom looks too happy,” Caelan said dismissively. “Unless it was Aunt Juliette. Did Aunt Juliette die, Mom?”

            “ _Caelan_ ,” Danny said, using the same tone he’d just employed with Claude, as the redhead bit both his lips to keep from laughing at exactly the wrong moment.

            “Your father and Claude have an announcement,” Sylvie said, still sounding bubbly and overjoyed. Danny had no idea that getting gay married to his roommate would thrill her this much. Maybe she just felt vindicated that the reason it had never worked between them was because she didn’t have what he wanted, literally. He swallowed a smile at the thought.

            “What is it, Dad?” Cam asked, looking up at his father. It was going to be hardest to deal with Cam. He trusted Carson and Caelan to take care of themselves. Cam was his baby, his youngest.

            Taking a deep breath, Danny slid his arm around Claude’s shoulders. In response, Claude put his around Danny’s waist. It felt kind of good, warm and solid, and he was utterly unprepared for when Claude hooked his thumb in the waistband of Danny’s jeans to keep his arm in place. It must have looked good, though, because Sylvie seemed happy.

            “Guys,” Danny said, “Claude and I are getting married.” There was a pause. Then everyone started talking at once.

            “And?” Caelan said, rolling his eyes.

            “ _Really_?” Carson said, beaming.

            “But Claude’s not a girl,” Cam said, confused.

            “Christ,” Claude mumbled. “Whoa!” he said, holding up the hand that wasn’t around Danny. “And nothing,” he said to Caelan. “Yes, really,” he told Carson. “Cam, when two guys love each other very much, they can get married too, just like a guy and a girl can.”

            “Duh, stupid,” Caelan muttered, and he earned a smack on the head from Claude for that. “Hey! You’re not my stepdad yet! You can’t hit me!”

            “I _am_ your dad, and I say he can do whatever he wants,” Danny said, squeezing Claude’s shoulders. Claude squeezed back.

            “That’s child abuse.”

            “Keep talking, kid, and I’ll show you child abuse,” Claude said mock-gruffly, and then Caelan grinned, punching Claude lightly on the upper arm.

            “I’m glad you’re sticking around. You going to Calgary would have really sucked.”

            “When is the ceremony?” Sylvie asked.

            “Saturday,” Danny said. “Sean Avery is making the arrangements.” And then he realized he’d just uttered those six words and wondered what the hell had happened to his once-normal life. Claude saw what he was thinking and grinned. Sylvie looked confused.

            “Sean Avery? That idiot who plays for the Rangers?”

            “He’s been really helpful,” Claude admitted. “With getting the license and everything.”

            “Hm,” Sylvie said, and she left it at that.

            They hung out with the boys for the rest of the day, kicking Danny’s ass six ways from Sunday at video games and playing pickup street hockey in the driveway. By the time they left, the sun was setting and Cam was getting sleepy. Danny hugged all of his sons in turn.

            “We’ll see you on Saturday,” he said. “Maybe before then. Love you guys.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Caelan said, and Danny rolled his eyes as he quickly kissed Cam on the top of his head and then climbed into his car.

            The drive home was silent. Claude was staring out the window and Danny was concentrating on the rapidly darkening road ahead as they drove through suburban New Jersey. Finally, Claude spoke.

            “Have to call my parents tonight. And yours.” Danny sighed. That was a conversation he really hadn’t been looking forward to.

            “We have to pretend to them too, you know.” Claude nodded soberly.

            “I know.” He sounded so sad, like the result of that phone call had already been decided. Danny reached over and put a hand on Claude’s knee. That had seemed like a good idea until Claude’s entire body stiffened at Danny’s touch. He drew back quickly, looking over at Claude.

            “It’ll be okay,” he said, as reassuringly as possible. “It will.”

            “Danny, I don’t think my parents have ever met a gay person.”

            “They love you.”

            “I don’t…” Claude fell silent and went back to staring out the window.

            “Call Isabelle first,” Danny said. Isabelle Giroux was Claude’s sister. “Actually, call her now.”

            Danny tried to tune Claude’s conversation with Izzy out as they pulled into their driveway and parked, but he couldn’t tune out the way Claude’s voice softened, relaxed, how he seemed to calm down just from talking to her. Once they got into the house, Claude took his phone into his room, and Danny sighed, digging out his own and dialing his parents’ house. This was not going to be fun.

            His conversation with his parents was short and to the point.

            “I’m getting married on Saturday. To Claude Giroux.”

            “Well, you’re thirty-four, we can’t stop you.”

            There wasn’t really much to say after that.

            After about an hour, he mustered up the courage to press his ear against the door of Claude’s room to check and see if he was still on the phone. Danny couldn’t hear anything, so he knocked lightly.

            “Come in.” Tentatively, Danny swung open the door to find Claude sitting on his bed, his phone next to him. He looked very young and very little-boy-lost as he looked up at Danny. It made the older man’s insides ache. He sat down next to Claude and put his arm around his shoulders, not as a show this time, but as a real act of comfort.

            “What did they say?” Claude smiled faintly.

            “They told me that I was their son and they would love me no matter what I was or who I was married to. Which was just what Isabelle said they would say.” Relief swamped Danny in a wave. “They want to come down for the ceremony. So does Izzy.”

            “That’s wonderful.”

            “Yeah,” Claude said, his smile widening a little as he looked at Danny out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, it is.” He swallowed. “I’m really not so sad that I’m marrying you, Danny.”

            “Me neither,” Danny said quietly. They sat there for a few minutes, Danny’s arm warm around Claude’s shoulders, before Danny stood up. “C’mon. I have scotch.”

            “Hallelujah.”

 

WEDNESDAY

 

            The next morning, Danny woke up at ten but stayed curled up in bed until past noon. When he finally staggered out into the living room, he was greeted by the sight of Claude and James van Riemsdyk, sitting on the couch playing Soul Calibur.

            “Hey, Danny,” James called out, before going right back to trying to shove Claude off what looked like the deck of a pirate ship. Danny stood in the doorway, scratching his head and blinking, until Claude finally skewered James and looked up too.

            “I made coffee, like, three hours ago, so it’s cold by now, but it’s in the coffeepot. Have you been in bed since I woke up?”

            “Um. Yes?” Claude sighed, rolling his eyes in James’s direction, who snorted.

            “Go make yourself a bagel or something,” he said, before returning to the task of kicking James’s ass. Danny headed into the kitchen to do just that. “Oh, and Avery called,” Claude yelled after him as he put a bagel into the toaster. “He called me after you didn’t— _asshole_ —answer your phone.” It took Danny a couple seconds to realize that the _asshole_ was directed at James.

            “What’s he want?” Danny asked, coming back out of the kitchen to talk to Claude.

            “He said—fuck it, James, _stop hitting me_ —he said he’d found a minister who was willing to do the ceremony on short notice.” Automatically, Danny looked at James to see what he thought of this entire thing. James was instead focused on kicking Claude’s ass, which was refreshingly normal. He saw him looking, though, and grinned, even if he didn’t take his eyes off the TV screen.

            “You think I care, Danny? Fuck, I’m just glad he’s staying. He could be entering a three-way relationship with a dolphin and Hugh Hefner and I wouldn’t care if it meant someone talented was still going to be passing me the puck. Gay shit? I really couldn’t give a fuck. Besides, you’re, like, the most responsible guy I—fuck, Claude, _really_?” Apparently something had happened on the screen that Danny missed.

            “Suck it, van Riemsdyk.”

            “I just hope you know what you’re getting into. He’s a huge fucking pain in the ass.”

            “I will take back best man status from you. I’ll do it in a fucking heartbeat.”

            “Take back what?” Danny asked, not sure he’d heard Claude right.

            “James is going to be my best man,” Claude said offhandedly, mashing some buttons. He had heard him right.

            “Your best man.”

            “Yep. I was talking to Avery-”

            “No good ever came of a sentence that started like that.” Claude grinned.

            “I was. And he suggested that we at least each have a best man, you know, to make it more like a real wedding. He’s got dibs on you, but he told me I should find someone, and of course, my natural thought was this idiot here.”

            “You’re so sweet.” Danny, on the other hand, was preoccupied with other things.

            “Avery has _dibs on me_?”

            “Yeah. He hasn’t talked about it with you?” Claude’s tone was sweetly concerned, and Danny could have strangled him. Claude was fully aware Avery hadn’t discussed jackshit with Danny. “And Cam can be a ring boy. It’ll be very cute. We’re meeting Avery at Barneys New York at one PM tomorrow to buy our suits, too. He wanted to outfit your entire family but I told him that just wasn’t going to happen.”

            “Good.” Danny’s voice was tight. He didn’t like the idea of his sons being dragged into this…thing, whatever it was. Or of them being around Sean Avery, but he supposed that couldn’t be helped at this point.

            “But he’s right that photos of the wedding are probably going to be leaked, so he wants us to look good.”

            “I happen to own several nice suits.”

            “Humor the man, okay? He did intern at _Vogue_.” James snorted, and Claude grinned. “I know, right? And _I’m_ the one getting gay married.”

            “Well, what does he want us to do today, then?” Danny asked, a little annoyed by the way Sean Avery was just organizing his wedding. Except he’d asked Avery to do it. And he’d have no fucking idea how to do it on his own. And he was petrified beyond belief at the moment.

            “He said something about covering all our bases.” Claude did something and managed to grab James and throw him halfway across the pirate ship deck. “Ha!” Meanwhile, the wheels were turning in Danny’s head.

            “James.” The man in question looked up. “Did Holmgren’s secretary happen to mention when they were going to finalize the Calgary deal?” James’s brows knit.

            “By the end of the week, she said.” Danny nodded.

            “Claude, where’s my phone?” A second later a piece of plastic was sailing towards him. He just barely caught it. “Thanks.”

            “No problem.” Then something seemed to process for Claude. “You’re not going to-”

            “Fuck yes I am,” Danny said crisply. “I’ll be outside.”

            “Jesus, put on some clothes before you scare the neighbors.” In a very immature move Danny Briere would certainly never admit to, he flipped Claude off before taking the phone outside and dialing Paul Holmgren’s office.

            After wrangling with Jennifer, the well-endowed secretary who had made James’s acquaintance, he was connected to Holmgren’s private line.

            “Hello?”

            “Paul? It’s Danny Briere.” When someone is paying you $6.5 million a year, you get to call them Paul.

            “Danny?” Holmgren sounded confused. “What’s going on? Jennifer said it was urgent.”

            “I wanted to tell you something personally, before you heard it on the news,” Danny said, trying to sound calm and collected and not at all like his life had spiraled into insanity over the course of the past couple days. “Claude Giroux and I are getting married.” Dead silence. Not even crickets. Just dead fucking silence. Then, a deep sigh.

            “I thought something like this might happen,” Holmgren muttered. “Didn’t think you’d let me send your boyfriend to Calgary without a fight.” Danny had to bite back the typical response he gave to that— _he’s not my boyfriend!_ —with the recollection that according to this new reality, Claude was actually his boyfriend. “When’s the wedding?”

            “Saturday,” Danny said. “But the license will be ready Friday-”

            “Jesus Christ, Danny, if you’re getting married I’m not going to rush the trade so it’s done before the license is ready just to fuck you guys over. I guess he’s staying. I’ll call his agent.” Danny wondered if Claude had even called his agent. Probably not. That would require forethought and planning, neither of which were Claude’s strong suits.

            “Thanks, Paul.”

            Danny went back inside to discover that James and Claude had given up on trying to concentrate on Soul Calibur and were just lying on the couch drinking beer. At 12:30 in the afternoon. Oh, to have the liver of a twenty-four-year-old.

            “What did he say?” Claude demanded, twisting around in his seat to look at Danny.

            “You’re not going to Calgary,” Danny told him, and as he watched it was like a twenty-pound weight was lifted off Claude’s shoulders. His entire body relaxed, his face broke into a smile that made Danny’s stomach flip, and he even seemed to return to radiating that happy Claude glow that had dimmed over the past few weeks. Fuck, he had _missed_ that glow. “You need to call your agent, explain what’s just happened.”

            “Oh! Right!” Claude half-vaulted off the couch, grabbing his phone off the coffee table, and headed out to the back deck where Danny had just been to make the call. James looked at Danny over the top of the Yuengling bottle as the patio door slid shut behind Claude.

            “You hurt him,” James said casually, “not only will I kill you and make it look like an accident, I’ll make it look like you died during auto-erotic asphyxiation. Do you understand?”

            “Jesus, Riemer, who the hell-”

            “Do you fucking _understand_ , Briere?” Okay, fine, James could be kind of intimidating when he wanted to be. Kind of _very_ intimidating.

            “Yes! I understand. You don’t need to worry, anyway. I’m not going to hurt him.”

            “I don’t think you will,” James said, his eyes keen and assessing on Danny. The older man didn’t ask what made James think that. “It’s just, you know, part of my duties as a best man.” Danny rolled his eyes.

            James stuck around for most of the rest of the day, finally ducking out around five o’clock. Claude and Danny ended up lying on the couch with their feet on the coffee table watching a Phillies-Giants game and eating pizza. Neither of them really liked baseball, but it was sort of a contractual obligation that if you played one Philadelphia sport you had to pay at least minimal attention to the other three.

            It was a classic pitchers’ duel—Cliff Lee and Tim Lincecum, they couldn’t have scripted it better—which meant that it would have been very interesting to a hardcore baseball fan but ended up being very boring to a pair of hockey players. Danny was determined to see this through, but he was unsurprised and rather amused when he looked over to see that Claude was falling asleep.

            He was incredibly surprised, however, when Claude shifted so he was lying down on the couch and just put his head in Danny’s lap, resting his cheek as casually as could be on Danny’s denim-covered thigh.

            Danny stiffened from shock. Claude could sense it. He felt Claude twitch, and then lift his head, but instantly and automatically he reached forward and put his hand on Claude’s head to keep him where he was. Slowly, he felt Claude relax, until all the tension seemed to have slipped out of his body again.

            There was a problem, though, Danny was realizing as he tried to focus on Lee’s pitching—man really was a fucking machine—and failed miserably. He didn’t know what to do with his left hand. His right could just sit on his right thigh, the one not currently occupied, but his left-

            Well, it just seemed most natural to keep it on Claude’s head, didn’t it?

            Minutes stretched by. The inning ended. Claude’s breathing had grown deep and even. Danny was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep.  

            Gently, automatically, without even being quite sure what the fuck he was doing, his fingers tangled in Claude’s hair. He slowly ran his hand through it, like he would a girl’s, feeling the way it slipped through his fingers. It was soft, softer than it looked. But what got him was the way Claude sighed a little and shifted so he was pressing back ever-so-slightly into Danny’s touch. He would never in a million years admit the way his pulse jumped at that. Of course, the only sensible response was to do it again. And again. And again, until Claude was practically purring in his sleep.

            Danny watched the whole game, the stupid postgame show, and whatever the stupid show was that came on after the postgame show. And by “watched”, he meant “watched Claude.” Finally, though, it was nearly midnight and they had to be up tomorrow to meet Avery in New York.

            “Claude,” Danny whispered, shaking him a little. “Claude.”

            “Go ‘way,” Claude grunted. “I’m comfy.” Danny grinned a little stupidly at that.

            “You can’t sleep here.”

            “Why not?” Claude seemed to burrow further into Danny’s thigh as if to prove his point.

            “Come on.” Danny managed to get him up and half-carry him into his room. Sleepily, Claude stripped down to his boxers—which made Danny look away for reasons he was afraid to admit to himself—and crawled into bed.

            “Night, Danny,” he said as he settled himself and closed his eyes again, and Danny slipped out of his bedroom, turning off the light as he went.

 

THURSDAY

 

            “Ow!”

            “Hold _still_!” The tailor who was putting pins in Claude’s suit to alter it looked up at him with a glare. It was the next day and they were at Barneys getting their suits for the wedding. Avery had commented sympathetically that there just wasn’t enough time to get custom-made suits done, so they’d have to go with something “off-the-rack.” Then Danny had seen the price tags and had wanted to wrap his hands around Avery’s throat and squeeze.

            “You poke me with a pin again, dude, your life won’t be worth living,” Claude snapped, and Danny sighed.

            “Claude, please. He’s trying to help.”

            “Is your boyfriend always this volatile?” the tailor asked, adjusting a pant cuff.

            “You have no idea,” Danny mumbled, and Claude grinned at him.

            “You love it, _cher_.” Danny blinked at the realization that Claude had just referred to him as _cher_ , which was what Danny’s grandmother had always called him when she was pinching his cheeks, and how he was kind of all right with it. Avery was standing a little off to the side, watching this whole thing unfold.

            “Go with the pinstripes for Briere,” he instructed the tailor. “God only knows he needs to look taller.”

            “I’m not the one with lifts in his shoes,” Danny snapped. It was a guess, but an educated one—Avery turned and started talking quickly but loudly to the tailor about merino versus cashmere versus angora. Danny caught Claude’s eye and winked, and Claude laughed.

            “ _Still_! Hold _still_!”

            Their suits ordered—Avery would pick them up on Saturday and bring them down for the ceremony—Danny was all ready to book from New York and resume his current offseason occupation, which was drinking bottles and bottles of scotch, when Avery stopped him.

            “You’re not done.”

            “What is it now, Avery?” Claude asked, stepping up behind Danny and _putting his hand on Danny’s back_. Not even his upper back. Right on his lower back, like he was a fucking girl. Danny was so preoccupied with the heat of Claude’s hand coming through the cotton of his T-shirt that he missed what Avery said entirely.

            “What?” Danny asked, blinking. Avery saw his discomfiture, glanced at Claude, and then smiled in the most douche-tastic way possible. Danny _really_ wanted to hit him. He thought it would be a miracle if he and Claude actually managed to get married without Danny slamming his knuckles into Avery’s smug mouth at least once.

            “I said, we have to go to Tiffany’s to get your rings.” Right. Because they were getting _gay married_. Not just planning some kind of strange party that for some reason involved Sean Avery.

            Tiffany’s was cool and quiet compared to the street when they stepped inside. Avery nodded at the security guard and led them towards the back of the store, where a man in a dark suit was waiting behind a counter.

            “Sean.”  
            “Robert.” They shook hands over the counter, and then Avery turned to Claude and Danny. “These are my friends Danny and Claude. They’re here to buy wedding rings.” Robert nodded smoothly, like he did this all the time. He probably did. It was New York, after all.

            “Do you have any idea of what you’re looking for?”

            “I want that one,” Claude said immediately, pointing to a sizeable diamond ring in the display case. “Won’t you get me that one, honey?”

            “Cut it out, darling,” Danny said sweetly, elbowing Claude in the midsection, “or I will make you wear that for the rest of your life.” Claude shut up, and Avery grinned a little at Danny before turning to Robert.

            “I was thinking plain bands. Platinum, with each other’s names engraved in them. Can you do that before Saturday?”

            “Of course. Let’s just get your ring sizes, and then you can pick out the ones you want.”

            Robert took Claude’s ring size first, and then he wandered over to look at the watches while Danny’s finger was measured. Avery was hanging around somewhere across the room, flirting with a saleswoman, and Danny rolled his eyes before turning back to Robert, who smiled at him.

            “Your fiancé is a very handsome man,” he commented, indicating Claude.

            “Yeah, I guess,” Danny said, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation.

            “How did the two of you meet?” It suddenly struck Danny that he was going to have to do this for the rest of his life—act like he and Claude were, well, he and Claude. What was worse was the emotion that swept through him when he had that thought. It was almost like longing.

            “We play for the same hockey team,” Danny answered. “The Philadelphia Flyers.”

            “Oh? That must be how you know Sean. Doesn’t he play hockey, too?”

            “He tries,” Danny mumbled. Robert smiled as he drew back.

            “There. You’re all set. Let me get the samples and you can pick a band style.”

            They picked the simplest of all of them, a 2mm platinum band, and Robert smiled cheerfully as he informed them that they would be ready for pickup the next day. Avery would bring the rings down on Saturday with the suits.

            “Nice to meet you,” he said, and Danny smiled weakly at him as they left the store.

            “Are we done, Avery?” he asked as they stood on the sidewalk in front of Tiffany’s. Danny was tired and he’d had a very confusing day and he wanted some of that scotch and to go to bed.

            “You’re done,” Avery confirmed. “You can go back to suburbia now. I’ll call you soon.” Danny rolled his eyes as he turned to walk down the street. He heard hurrying footsteps and looked to see Claude.

            “Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine,” Danny said, not bothering to assess whether or not that was true first. It didn’t really matter. Claude was quiet for a little while.

            “You didn’t have to do this,” he said finally. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.” Danny stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.

            “Claude!”

            “It’s just, you know, you don’t seem-”

            “Look,” Danny said, putting his hands on Claude’s shoulders and looking up at him. Claude was chewing on his bottom lip again, and Danny sighed a little bit. “I would do practically anything to keep you here, do you understand? Up to and including sleeping with Holmgren’s secretary.”

            “James did that on his own.”

            “Not the point,” Danny said, his fingers tightening. “The point is, marrying you? It’s nothing. Hell, I already see your ugly face every day of my life.” Finally, Claude smiled. Fuck. He was in _trouble_.

            “Yeah. You do.”

 

FRIDAY

 

            “Fuck! Fuck! _Fuck_!”

            “Ha! I _own_ your ass, Giroux!”

            “Again.”

            “Again? You want to taste defeat some more?”

             “I want to make you my bitch.” Danny sighed, biting the eraser on his pencil. James had come over and he and Claude were having an epic Soul Calibur battle, while Danny sat at the kitchen table and struggled with a sheet of notebook paper and one of Carson’s pencils trying to…write his wedding vows.

            _Shit._

            _~~I promise to love and honor you for all the days of our lives, or at least until there’s no danger of you going to Calgary~~_

 _~~I’ve loved you since I first met you, which is funny because it’s actually true~~_

              _ ~~This was supposed to be fake, and now I’m writing my fucking wedding vows, what the fuck has happened to my life?~~_

            He totally failed at this romance thing.

            “Shit! Claude, you asshole!”

            “Bite me, van Riemsdyk.” Claude’s voice was filled with glee. Danny groaned a little and focused on the blue lines of the blank sheet of paper. Avery’s voice echoed in his ears. _Romance. I need romance! Love! Make it believable, Briere!_ He knew Claude had already written his, and wished desperately he could read them for ideas, but Avery maintained that he was not to see them before the ceremony so his surprise would be believable.

            “Claude probably pulled them out of his ass in ten minutes,” Danny had complained, but Avery was inflexible.

            “Doesn’t matter.”

            “Jesus, Claude, Talim’s, like, pocket-sized! I’m getting my ass kicked by a twelve-year-old girl!”

            “Damn straight you are.” Danny sighed to himself and, not believing that he was about to do what he was about to do, fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

            “Hey, Briere,” Avery answered it cheerfully. “How’s the writing going?”

            “I can’t do this,” Danny said flatly. “I need help.”

            “What do you mean, you need help?”

            “Mother _fucker_! God, you fucktard!”

            “And what the hell is going on in your house? Do your sons really have mouths that filthy?”

            “That,” Danny said through gritted teeth, “is Claude. He is doing something with Riemer—van Riemsdyk—that involves video games and them swearing a lot. My sons are not home.” Avery laughed.

            “Okay, okay, calm down. You’re saying you need help writing your vows?”

            “Yes.”

            “Can’t do that.”

            “What—you motherfucker!” Danny swore, making both Claude and James pause and crane their necks to look at him. He waved them off and they returned to battling each other to the death. “You’re damn well going to help me with this!”

            “With what? I don’t know why you care about Giroux. I don’t know about all of the little special things he does that make you smile.” There was actually far less sarcasm in Avery’s voice than Danny would originally have expected. “You just have to be honest. Don’t worry about pretty language. Just write down how you feel in the most basic and truthful way possible. That will work, I promise you.”

            “But I’m not-”

            “Got to go, Briere.” Avery hung up, and Danny sighed, putting his phone down and staring at the paper.

            “You massive dickbag! Jesus fucking Christ!”

            He started to write.

            The reason James was over in the first place was because that evening he was throwing Claude a bachelor party. Danny answered the door at about six PM that evening and blinked.

            “Hey, Danny boy,” Dan Carcillo said, stepping in and giving Danny a hug. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

            “Um.” Danny blinked. “Um. What are you doing here? You don’t even live in this state. Or play for this team anymore.”

            “Riemer and I are taking Giroux out!” Carcillo explained, waving his arms around expansively. “To celebrate his last night as a single man. Where are they?”

            “We’re right here.” Danny turned to see Claude and James. Claude was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt and looked really good. Then Danny realized he’d just noticed that Claude looked really good, and blinked. Carcillo looked pleased when he saw them.

            “Okay, so, we’ll return him in one piece sometime tonight,” he promised, ushering Claude out the door. “Probably.” Then the door swung shut and Danny was left standing there unsure of what to do with himself as he listened to Carcillo’s car pull out of the driveway.

            Sylvie answered the door after he’d been knocking on it for a solid minute.

            “What is it?” she asked, looking confused. “We were in the kitchen eating dinner.”

            “I just…” Danny shook his head as if to clear it. “I just need to see them, okay?” Sylvie nodded, stepping back.

            “Of course.”

            She had cooked mac and cheese that night, and everyone was bolting it down as usual when Danny came into the kitchen.

            “Dad!” Cam and Carson yelled, while Caelan rolled his eyes.

            “Are you getting married tomorrow, Dad?” Cam asked. Danny nodded.

            “To Claude,” his youngest said importantly. Danny nodded again, thinking of the carefully folded piece of notebook paper currently sitting on top of his dresser on which he’d finally gotten his vows to sound kind of all right.

            “Are you nervous?”

            “Incredibly,” Danny confessed, and Caelan snorted. He turned to say something to his son before he saw that Caelan was smiling at him.

            “I’d be nervous too,” he said. “Getting married and stuff.”

            “Yeah,” Danny said, his smile shaky but genuine. “And stuff.”

            He spent the evening with his sons, just lying on the couch watching movies and absorbing that wonderful feeling of being around them. Finally, Carson and Cam had fallen asleep and Danny looked over in the dimly flickering light of the TV at Caelan.

            “You haven’t told me if you’re surprised or not.”

            “Surprised at what?”

            “You really aren’t good at playing dumb, Caelan.” Danny’s oldest grinned.

            “You and Claude, you mean.” Danny nodded. “No, totally not surprised.” Danny tried to school his face, keep it neutral, as Caelan went on. “Your face changes when he walks into a room. Like it used to when you and Mom were happy. You get this dumbass moony look, like someone just whacked you on the head or something. Totally didn’t surprise me to find out you were secretly fucking.”

            “ _Caelan_.” Even as shocked as he was, Danny could manage to be the stern father.

            “Well, you were!” Danny chose to not answer that.

            He left late that night after Caelan had gone to bed, but when he arrived back at their house Claude wasn’t back yet. He puttered around restlessly for a while, unsure of what to do, before he sat down on the sofa with some of that scotch to wait.

            Hours later, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa and was woken up by the sound of someone trying to open the front door. He sat up just as it swung open and Claude came through.

            “Where the hell have you been?” Danny demanded, standing up and walking around the couch to confront him. He reeked—the smell was a unique mix of liquor, cheap perfume, and cigarette smoke—and Danny was fairly sure that reddish smudge on his jawline was lipstick. The punch of jealousy in his gut that it produced was unexpected and he was wholly unprepared for it.

            “I was with Dan and James,” Claude said, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He looked drunk, but not shitfaced. That was at least one bright side. He was going to _kill_ van Riemsdyk. Actually, no, this had Carcillo written all over it.

            “Where—no. I don’t want to know. Claude, it’s…two-fifteen in the fucking morning, and we’re getting married tomorrow. Go to bed. No. Take a shower and then go to bed.” Claude nodded blearily and then staggered down the hall towards the bathroom. Danny waited until the door slammed and then began planning his threatening voicemail to Dan Carcillo.

 

SATURDAY

 

            Danny didn’t know how he got any sleep the night before the wedding. He must have, though, because when he closed his eyes it was dark and when he opened them again bright morning sun was streaming through his bedroom windows and Sean Avery was standing next to his bed looking down at him.

            “Ahhh!”

            “Don’t squeal, Briere, it’s just me.” Avery leaned one arm against Danny’s bedpost. “Your house is pretty nice, I’ve got to say. Real homey.”

            “How the hell did you get in?” Danny demanded, sitting up in bed and raking one hand through his hair.

            “Giroux let me in. He’s getting dressed, I just gave him his suit and told him if he spills anything on it, he’s dead fucking meat. The caterers are here and they’re busy setting everything up in your backyard, so are the people with the chairs and shit, and the minister is in your living room and wants to talk to the two of you as soon as you get your clothes on.” Danny’s head was spinning a little bit at all of this information. “What are you waiting for, Briere? Get up!”

            He never thought he would actually say this, and would deny it if anyone ever tried to say he did, but he was insanely grateful for Sean Avery that day. The man organized everything with the skill of a professional wedding planner, although Danny was pretty sure that professional wedding planners weren’t allowed to crack short jokes about their employers nearly as often as Avery did. For the most part, Danny just made sure he stood out of the way as people rushed by, carrying food or furniture or flowers. In his inside pocket was the folded piece of notebook paper that had his vows on it, and he’d touched it to make sure it was there so often that he was starting to worry about smearing the pencil.

            “Mr. Briere?” He looked up to see a kindly-looking woman, gray hair cut into a bob, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a matching blouse.

            “Yes?” Maybe she was one of Avery’s friends. But Avery would never let one of his friends wear anything like that and then be seen with them in public. The man was _vain_.

            “I’m Elaine Lewis. I’ll be performing your marriage ceremony today.” It had to be a sign of how far this had gone that Danny’s first reaction was of relief. She didn’t seem normal, quite, but she did seem kind.

            “Oh, thank God,” he said fervently. “I’m Danny. Nice to meet you.” Mrs. Lewis laughed, shaking his hand firmly.

            “Nice to meet you too. Is your fiancé anywhere around here? I’d like to meet him too before the ceremony, just discuss a few things about procedure.” Danny craned his neck around. No sign of Claude.

            “I honestly haven’t seen him yet today, but-”

            “Haven’t seen who?” Danny jumped a foot in the air as Claude appeared at his elbow.

            “Good God.” Claude smiled at him, and Danny finally had a chance to actually look at him. He was wearing a dark navy suit that fit him perfectly, a white shirt, and a green tie that somehow made him look even more ginger than usual. In short, he looked astonishingly good.

            “Hello,” he said, grabbing Danny’s hand and squeezing it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m Claude Giroux. You must be the minister.”

            “Elaine Lewis.” She shook Claude’s hand too. “I was just telling your fiancé, there are a few things I want to go over with the two of you before the ceremony.”

            “Okay,” Danny said, suddenly nervous. Mrs. Lewis looked nice, but she also looked like she could cut you if you looked at her funny.

            “I don’t want there to be any surprises,” she explained with a smile. “I have some words prepared, I’ll say them, but then it’ll be time for the two of you to say your vows. Sean said that you had written some yourself?” Danny nodded, thinking of the fifty-pound piece of notebook paper in his inside suit pocket right then.

            “Yeah. We did.”

            “Good. Who wants to go first?” Claude and Danny exchanged looks. They hadn’t considered this.

            “I guess I will,” Claude said.

            “Good. After each of you says your vows, you’ll exchange rings—so after Claude says his, Danny will get his ring, and vice verse. After that, I’ll do the whole in-sickness-and-in-health bit, and then, you’ll kiss. Make sense? Sean said you wanted quick and simple.” Danny nodded, feeling vaguely like he was going to puke. Seemingly sensing this, Claude’s arm moved to settle around his waist, and he leaned into the other man almost unconsciously.

            “Yeah. Quick and simple.”

            Danny left the bathroom about forty-five minutes later, where he may or may not have been throwing up the bowl of cereal he’d bolted down for breakfast, only to join Avery on the back porch. There were a few rows of chairs set up, and in those chairs were half the team, past and future. He saw Pronger, obviously, with his wife and kids, as well as Scottie, James, Carcillo, Matt, Ian, Braydon, and Jeff. Even Richie had flown in from L.A. Holmgren was there, too, looking slightly less like he ate kittens for breakfast than usual.

            “They all came.”

            “What do you mean, they all came?” Avery snapped, clearly a little annoyed with Danny. “Did you think they’d just all ditch you if you came out of the closet? You don’t give them enough credit, Briere.” The way Avery phrased that—deliberately, too—made Danny swallow.

            “I…don’t know what I thought.” Avery smacked him on the back. It hurt.

            “Man up, would you? You’re about as subtle as a drunk Patrick Kane.”

            “I-” But Avery wasn’t listening to him any more, because Mrs. Lewis was beckoning to them from where she was standing with Claude at the front of all those chairs.

            “Come on, Briere. It’s time to put it in the net.” Danny didn’t even roll his eyes at the horrible, horrible hockey pun. He was too busy trying to hide the degree to which he was panicking.

            The walk up the aisle to where Claude was standing seemed to be insanely quick and take forever at the same time. When he got there he automatically reached out and took Claude’s hands, and the redhead squeezed his once in a gesture of comfort. Then Mrs. Lewis started talking, and while Danny knew she was saying important things and making the guests laugh, he couldn’t manage to focus enough on her words to understand them. That would have required focusing less on Claude, on the sunlight shining off his hair, on the warmth of his hands, on how he smelled.

            Then there was silence. Claude swallowed and took a deep breath, and Danny realized it was time.

            “During that game against New York to get us into the playoffs in 2010,” Claude said, speaking carefully because, Danny realized, he was just as nervous as the older man was. “It went to a shootout. Laviolette came by and told us who was going to be up. It was you, then Richie, then me. Do you remember what I asked you?” Danny did, and Claude knew by the smile on his face. He smiled back, shakily. “Yeah. I asked you not to miss.” Everyone laughed. “Of course, you didn’t. Neither did I. But I had complete faith in you that you’d make that shot. I’ve always had faith in you, Danny. It’s been easy. You’ve always been there for me. People say things like that all the time when it’s not true, but with us—with us it’s true, you know?” Danny was still grinning, absurdly, and nodded slightly as if to say he understood what Claude was saying. “When I think about the future with us, it’s funny, because I don’t really know what the hell to expect. What’s going to happen. But I know that you’ve got my back. And that’s all that really matters.” He paused. “I love you.”

            Danny sucked in a long, slow breath to try and calm himself down.

            Cam stepped forward with Danny’s ring, and after some fumbling Claude managed to get the correct ring on the correct finger. Then he stepped back and Danny reached into his suit pocket to pull out his piece of paper, smoothing it out with shaking hands.

            “I’m getting old, as you tell me so often,” he explained, his voice shaking a little. Claude grinned, reaching out to take his free hand. “My memory isn’t so good.”

            “It’s okay.” Danny smiled at him and started to talk.

            “I’ve spent almost every day with you over the past two years, since you moved into my house, and I’ve learned a lot about you. You naturally wake up at eight in the morning. You play as some twelve-year-old girl in Soul Calibur. You have a secret thing for Ke$ha.” Claude narrowed his eyes in mock irritation at Danny as everyone laughed. Danny smiled as he went on. “That, and I discovered that I’m in love with you. I wish to God I’d figured it out sooner. It took me too damn long to realize that the feeling that I couldn’t live without you meant, well, that I couldn’t live without you.” He was looking steadily at Claude as he talked, and he saw Claude’s eyes widen a little. He took a deep breath and nodded a little as he went on. _Yes. Yes, I mean it. I’m not lying. This isn’t for show._ “Because I can’t. I wouldn’t know what to do without you around. You’re right. I don’t know what the future’s going to be like for us. But I really want you around with me when I find out.” He was watching Claude when he said that, and then-

            Claude squeezed his hand. And nodded. Danny’s stomach jumped.

            Somehow they got the ring on Claude’s finger. Neither of them were quite sure how it happened, but it involved laughter and trembling hands. Then, Mrs. Lewis started to speak again.

            “Do you, Daniel, take Claude to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

            “I do.” God, he was going to sprain something if he kept smiling like this.

            “And do you, Claude, take Daniel to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

            “I do.”

            “I now pronounce you-” And Danny never found out how Mrs. Lewis was going to deal with the semantics because Claude grabbed Danny’s face between his hands and kissed him before she could even finish her sentence.

            The reception was intimate but fun. Danny was chatting amicably with Lauren Pronger when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned to see Claude, and the grin that came across his face must have looked pretty stupid but felt fucking amazing.

            “Hey.”

            “Hey.” Lauren was smiling at both of them.

            “I think I’ll see what Jack’s getting up to,” she said, fading away into the background. Claude took Danny’s hand.

            “Can I talk to you for a second?”

            “Sure,” Danny said, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

            He followed Claude back into the house and back into the first-floor guest bedroom. When they got inside, Danny turned to him.

            “What’s up? Is everything-”

            “Did you mean what you said out there?” Claude asked, cutting him off. Danny swallowed. _Moment of truth._

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Every fucking word. I’m-”

            His body made a loud and unmistakable _thud_ sound as Claude shoved him back into the door, before covering Danny’s lips with his own. Despite the body-slam, Claude kissed him carefully, almost tenderly. Until, that is, Danny tangled his fingers in Claude’s hair and bit his bottom lip. Claude made this fantastic noise and then they were mauling each other, kissing frantically, hands searching under suit jackets, Claude’s knee between Danny’s legs-

            There was a pounding on the door.

            “Get out here.” It was Avery, and he was _pissed_.

            “Fuck you,” Claude yelled, apparently ready to rip Danny’s clothes off and have his way with him. Danny was the one who pulled away and opened the door. Avery was standing there, his arms crossed.

            “Look. Glad as I am that the two of you have finally realized something that the rest of the league has known for _years_ , you have a reception going on at which you are the honored guests. Get out there. Now is not the time to play grabass.”

            “Grabass?” Claude asked. “Are you my grandmother?”

            “Tuck in your shirt, Giroux.”

            “My God, you are.” Danny sighed, tucking in Claude’s shirt and then holding out his hand.

            “Let’s go.” Claude took his hand and they headed out towards the party.

            “I bought you a present,” Avery told them as they walked through the halls of the house. “I wasn’t going to tell you until later, but since you seem so eager to get into each others’ pants…”

            “What is it, Avery?” Danny asked, warning in his voice.  
            “A honeymoon. To Niagara Falls.” Danny and Claude exchanged incredulous looks.

            “Niagara Falls.”

            “Tahiti was too expensive.”

            “We’re _Canadian_.”

            “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

            As enjoyable as the reception was, it seemed to take _forever_. Danny spent most of it actively ignoring Claude, because if he paid attention to him all he could think of was how much he wanted to pin him down to the ground and fuck him senseless.

            Which was not a very productive thing to think about when talking to Claude’s mother.

            He did like the Giroux family a lot. Claude’s parents were quite sweet, a little bewildered by the whole gay-marriage thing but accepting of it if it made their son happy. Izzy, who he had heard tons about but never met, turned out to be a petite young woman with hair even redder than Claude’s who talked to her brother in mile-a-minute French and greeted Danny with a hug and a big smack of a kiss on the cheek.

            “I’m so glad he finally admitted it,” she said to Danny in their first language. “I felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall, sometimes.” Danny shot a grin over at Claude, who grinned back.

            “I can understand that.”

            After a few minutes of chatting with his new in-laws, Danny noticed Caelan standing over by the dessert table alone. He excused himself and walked over to where his son was, currently stuffing his face with brownies.

            “Leave some for the others, eh?” Caelan looked up, his mouth full.

            “They’re good,” he said, around brownie. Danny snorted.

            “Fine. I guess Avery has good taste in caterers?”

            “Yeah, he does.” Caelan finished chewing and swallowed. “Man, Claude’s sister is really hot. How did I not know that?” Danny rolled his eyes.

            “She is way too old for you, so don’t even think about it.”

            “There’s a bigger age gap between you and Claude.” Danny didn’t say anything, because it was true, but he reddened. Caelan saw. “Ha! Got you on that one.”

            “Maybe,” Danny said, not willing to admit defeat. “You doing okay?”

            “What do you mean?” Danny shrugged.

            “I mean…like…” He waved a hand around expansively. “You doing okay?”

            “What, Dad, you worried I’m going to have some kind of identity crisis because you just got gay married?” Danny didn’t want to admit that was exactly what he thought, because that sounded really stupid. Caelan grinned as he went on. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I’m straight, thanks. But since you did get married to a chick-”

            “Please don’t refer to your mother as a ‘chick’.” Caelan ignored him.

            “-and have three kids before your big gay reveal, I dunno. But yeah, dick freaks me out, so I don’t think so.”

            “Oh, God,” Danny said, looking skywards as if for divine assistance.

            “You asked.”

            “I’m just going to pretend we didn’t have this entire conversation.”

            “Wimp.”

            Finally, _finally_ , Avery stood up on a bench on the deck and announced that the taxi was outside to take Danny and Claude to the airport to catch their flight to Buffalo (because Avery really had a taste for the fucking exotic— _Buffalo_ ). It turned out Avery had even packed them both suitcases. Danny was slightly afraid to ask which of his possessions Sean Avery had chosen to put in his suitcase, but shrugged. As long as he had a change of clothes, a toothbrush and some underwear, he’d be okay. Claude hefted the suitcases into the trunk of the cab and Danny kissed his sons goodbye (even Caelan, who for once didn’t try to pretend it was gross), before he turned to Avery. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Sean grinned.

            “You don’t even need to say it.”

            “Good,” Danny said. “Then I won’t.” Avery stuck out his hand.

            “It’s been a pleasure, Briere. Good luck.” Danny shook it firmly.

            “See you next season.”

            “You can count on it.”

            “Danny!” It was Claude, shouting at him from the taxi. “Come on!” Avery winked at him.

            “I put supplies in your suitcase. Get it, Briere.” Rolling his eyes, Danny turned and headed for the cab, sliding in next to Claude.

            “Ready?” the cabdriver asked, and Danny nodded.

            “Yeah. Ready.”

            The cab ride to the airport was silent. They held hands the whole way, and Claude’s thumb rubbed over Danny’s knuckles in a comfortingly repetitive fashion that had him aching for more contact, but they were both very aware of the driver sitting in the front of the cab. He dropped them off at the terminal and they got onto the plane with minimal difficulty, and once they were in their seats (at least Avery had the decency to spring for first class) Claude curled up in his, leaned his head on Danny’s shoulder, and was out like a light. Danny smiled—that ability of Claude’s, the childish one to sleep at will, was so fucking endearing—and closed his own eyes, trying to drift off himself. He managed it shortly after takeoff.

            He woke up when the plane landed. Claude grunted and stirred slightly in his sleep but didn’t wake up, and Danny shook him a little.

            “Hm?” He blinked, lifting his head blearily. “Wha?”

            “We’re in Buffalo,” Danny told him, rubbing his own eyes. “We just landed.”

            “Oh.” Claude stretched, before peering out the window at the darkened tarmac. “Looks just like Philadelphia.”

            “That’s just the airport, dipshit.”

            “Don’t call me dipshit, dipshit.” Danny rolled his eyes and couldn’t help himself from stealing a quick kiss when he was pretty sure no one else was looking. Claude smiled when he pulled back. “What was that for?”

            “Nothing.” Danny settled himself back in his seat. “I just…wanted to.” Claude picked up Danny’s hand again, squeezing it as they sat and waited to disembark.

            There was a limo waiting to take them to their hotel, and this limo had an enclosed back so the driver couldn’t see them. This seemed to suggest only one thing:

            Making out.

            “No,” Danny gasped as Claude’s fingers went to his belt buckle. He was currently straddling Claude’s lap, his fingers digging into his shoulders, kissing him hotly and deeply and with lots of tongue.

            “Come on,” Claude said, and Danny batted his hands away.

            “Wait. Patience.”

            “Fuck that,” Claude said, and as if to prove it to Danny he put his hand over the rapidly growing bulge in Danny’s suit pants and pressed down. Danny’s hips snapped forward almost of their own accord, and Claude laughed.

            “Fuck. No. _No_. We are responsible adults,” Danny gasped, trying to make himself believe it as much as Claude. “And this is a very expensive-”

            The limousine pulled to a stop.

            “Thank fucking God,” Danny mumbled, scrambling to get off Claude just as the door opened. The chauffeur gave them a knowing look as they got out, and Claude grinned at him cheekily as he followed Danny into the hotel.

            Their room was gorgeous, spacious, and had beautiful views of the waterfalls. Danny wouldn’t realize any of this until later, because as soon as they got in and the door closed he and Claude were all over each other again. Claude’s fingers were impossibly nimble as they got the buttons of Danny’s suit jacket unfastened and slid it off his shoulders, before unknotting his tie and throwing it on the floor, untucking his shirt and carefully undoing each individual button and then pushing it off his shoulders. It got caught on his wrists and Danny fought with the cufflinks Avery had insisted he buy—fucking Avery—while Claude tried to help.

            “Claude—not helping—strip-”

            “Bossy,” Claude commented as he shucked off his own jacket and tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

            “Need you naked,” Danny said as he finally got the shirt off and then started with the shoes, kicking them off, peeling off his socks, undoing his belt. “Need you naked _yesterday_.” That earned him a laugh, and then he looked up and sweet Jesus, Claude was naked. He may have forgotten how to speak temporarily. Claude arched an eyebrow at him.

            “You okay?” Danny blinked. Then he shook his head.

            “No.” Still in his boxers, he crossed the room to where Claude was, reaching out for him. Claude pulled him into his arms, and Danny sucked in a breath at the feeling of Claude’s dick pressing into his stomach. He curled a hand around the back of Claude’s neck and tugged his head down, kissing him again, and again.

            Claude made a soft whining noise and thrust his hips a little into Danny’s stomach. He was getting impatient. Danny broke the kiss.

            “What do you want?” He was amazed he could still talk, he felt so tightly wired.

            “You,” Claude breathed. “You, in me.” Danny froze. Whatever he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it.

            “What?”

            “God, Danny, I want you to fuck me, is it really that hard to understand?” Claude said, a little annoyed. Danny sucked in a long, slow breath.

            “Oh, God.” He had started to feel a little dizzy. “Oh, God.” Claude had started to look nervous.

            “If you don’t want to—I mean, it’s okay-”

            “Get on the bed.” Claude stopped, looking at Danny, and then a slow smile broke across his face.

            “Okay.”

  

  1.             Claude sprawled out on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows, as Danny walked over to his suitcase and unzipped it, hoping he was right about what Avery had meant when he’d said “supplies.” He was. There was enough lube and condoms in that bag to supply a gay bathhouse—several bathhouses, actually. Danny selected some that looked innocuous (he was not doing this with a glow-in-the-dark condom and warming lube) and put them on the nightstand, before taking off his boxers and getting on the bed. Claude looked up at him, clearly nervous and trying very hard to hide it.             
  



            “You ever done this before?” Danny shook his head.

            “You?”

            “Nope. Do you know how to do it?”

            “I think so.”

            “Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” Claude asked, pulling him down into a long, messy kiss.

            Danny went as slowly as possible, making sure that Claude saw him do each step so there wouldn’t be any surprises. First he reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube, then he slicked up his fingers, then he leaned forward and placed his finger-

            “Jesus Christ, Danny, hurry the fuck up,” Claude said breathlessly, and Danny took a deep breath and eased the first finger in.

            Claude bit his lip, but he nodded, and Danny slowly began to work on loosening him up, starting with that one finger but then adding another one when the first seemed to be meeting less resistance. Claude let out a long breath, and Danny stopped, looking up at him in concern.

            “Claude?”

            “Don’t fucking stop, you fucking idiot,” Claude said, wiggling a little, and Danny gulped as he went right back to fingering him. After about another minute, he slipped in a third finger, and Claude inhaled sharply. He stopped again, and would have withdrawn altogether except for Claude’s voice. “I swear to God, Danny, if you don’t keep going I will never blow you, ever, in our entire married life, so _don’t stop_.” The thought of life without ever getting a blowjob from Claude Giroux was enough to get Danny to move his fingers again, and Claude grinned a little at the effectiveness of his threat before his breaths began to shorten and become ragged.

            “Claude?” Danny asked again, nervously.

            “It’s…” Claude licked his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. “It’s kind of feeling good, Danny.” The jolt of pride that hit Danny was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He started to curl his fingers, scissor them, trying to stretch Claude out as much as possible, and suddenly Claude gasped, nearly arching off the bed.

            “Oh, God.” Danny froze. “What? What did I do?”

            “There,” Claude managed. “Oh, God, that felt good.” Experimentally, Danny repeated the motion, and the moan Claude let out was so hot Danny thought it was lucky he didn’t come on Claude’s leg like a teenager.

            Carefully, he pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the comforter, before reaching for the lube and condom. He put on the rubber and then slicked himself up, before looking at Claude.

            “Do you want me on my stomach, or-”

            “No,” Danny said, even though it was probably an awkward angle and a bad idea. He didn’t care. He wanted to see Claude’s face.

            “Yeah,” Claude said, his voice a little hoarse, reading his mind as he was wont to do. “I want that, too.”

            Danny went slowly. So fucking slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. He could hear his blood thrumming in his ears as he pushed in, one hand bracing himself next to Claude’s head, the other resting on Claude’s hip. Claude’s eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, his breathing heavy as Danny eased in until he was buried inside him.

            Inside Claude.

            He held himself still with every bit of self-control he possessed, willing himself not to move until Claude said it was okay. He might be out of his mind with wanting and lust and pleasure, might be currently balls deep inside the man he’d loved for years, but he would not hurt Claude. No matter what, he would not hurt Claude.

            “Danny.” Claude’s voice was rough, sandpapery.

            “Yeah?” God, he could still talk? He amazed himself every day.

            “ _Move_.” Okay. He could do that.

            He was careful as he thrust, but not so careful that it didn’t feel so fucking good he was dizzy with it. He got the idea a little while in to tilt Claude’s hips a bit, start looking for that spot inside him that had made his eyes roll into the back of his head earlier, and after a few tries he thrust and Claude shouted and dug his nails into Danny’s hips. That made him smile and do it again, and again, until Claude was arching up and bunching the comforter in his hands.  Danny reached between them and grabbed Claude’s cock, fisting it in his hand and stroking, and then Claude was practically sobbing, gasping out pleas in an incomprehensible mix of French and English as Danny finally brought him over the edge and he came all over his chest and Danny’s hand, moaning his new husband’s name.

            That was what triggered Danny’s orgasm—the sound of Claude saying his name as he came. If it had been anyone other than Claude, he’d have been embarrassed.

            When he came back to himself he realized he’d pitched forward on top of Claude at some point in the process, and managed to pick himself up and withdraw, taking off the condom and putting it in the trashcan, before looking at Claude. He was lying there, eyes closed, looking almost like he was asleep. Danny snorted as he got up and went into the bathroom, dampening a washcloth and carrying it out to the other room. He started to clean Claude up, and the other man grunted.

            “What’re you doin’?”

            “You’re filthy,” Danny told him. “And I doubt you’re going to take a shower. I have to share a bed with you. So I’m cleaning you off.”

            “Oh.” Claude relaxed and let Danny finish. When he was done, Danny got Claude up so he could yank the dirty comforter off the bed and they could climb under the thin hotel blanket and sheet. Danny wasn’t sure what the sleeping arrangement would be, exactly, but it was quickly made clear when Claude tugged him over so they were tucked up against each other, Danny’s head resting on Claude’s shoulder.

            “Night,” Danny whispered, and he felt Claude kiss the top of his head.

            “Night.”

 

SUNDAY

 

            Danny woke up before Claude the next morning, which was a rare event. Usually Claude was out of bed and puttering around the kitchen when Danny staggered out of his room in the morning, but now Danny was lying in bed looking at Claude’s sleeping face. The sunlight was coming through the window and seemed to be making some kind of halo around his head, and he was snoring a bit. It was freakishly endearing. Danny watched him sleep for a long time, until finally he stirred and his eyes fluttered open. They focused, and then he smiled.

            “Morning.”

            “Morning,” Danny said, leaning forward just enough to kiss him. That kiss turned into a full-on morning makeout session. Danny was busy trying to give Claude a hickey right on his collarbone—they were on their fucking honeymoon, after all—when Claude pulled back. Danny looked at him, puzzled.

            “What-”

            Claude pulled the covers back. Slid down. Danny felt all the blood leave his head in a rush.

            “You did keep going last night when I told you to,” Claude said, looking up at him. Danny could feel his breath warm on certain parts of his body, and those certain parts were becoming very interested. “So I guess I’m allowed to do this. If you want me to.” There was a pause. “Do you want me to?”

            “Stop fucking around and suck my dick, you asshole,” Danny gasped, and Claude laughed and wrapped his lips around Danny’s cock.

            The noise Danny made at that was a high-pitched kind of a squeak that he was instantly embarrassed by. However, Claude sucked harder in approval, so he let him hear what he was doing to him, a series of keens and moans interspersed with Claude’s name and occasionally soft directions—“right there”, “more”, “again”. Claude was clearly not experienced, but he caught on quickly based on Danny’s reactions, until after a particularly apt swipe of Claude’s tongue Danny came down the back of his husband’s throat.

            Danny just lay there, his whole body humming with the aftermath of his orgasm, as Claude cuddled up next to him and laid his head on his shoulder. Automatically, Danny wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close, and they just lay like that for a long time, Claude tracing patterns absently on Danny’s chest.

            “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” Claude lifted his head to look Danny in the face.

            “What?”

            “When we were saying our vows. You said that you loved me. Did you mean it?” Claude looked puzzled.

            “Why are you asking me that, Danny?” Hand shaking, Danny reached out to touch Claude’s face.

            “Don’t do that thing of answering my questions with a question,” he told him. “It’s annoying, remember?” Slowly, Claude smiled, before he reached up to hold Danny’s hand where it was.

            “Yes,” he said. “I meant it.” Danny took a deep breath.

            “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Sean fucking Avery was right.” Claude burst into near-hysterical laughter.

            They lay in bed all day, ordering room service for food and just lying in bed talking the rest of the time. It was late afternoon by the time that Danny decided they really had to get out of bed and go find somewhere to eat dinner.

            “Really?” Claude was giving him the soulful puppy eyes from the bed as Danny put on a pair of pants.

            “Really. Put on clothes, come on. We have a week in this room, there will be plenty of time for us to fuck.”

            “I could be wanting quality alone time with my husband.”

            “No. You want fucking time. I know you.” Claude rolled his eyes as he got out of bed and opened his suitcase, starting to get dressed.

            “Can we go on those boats that go up to the base of the waterfalls? I want to see you in one of those ponchos.” Danny rolled his eyes as he pulled on a shirt, and Claude laughed as he wriggled into a pair of jeans. “I do have one thing to say, though.”

            “What?”

            “No matter what anyone says, you’re a much better alternative than Calgary.” 


End file.
